Countenance
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: Trembling, she presses her palms to his mask. JasonWhitney, set during Ft13: 2009, oneshot


_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own Friday the 13th._

_**Summary: Trembling, she presses her palms to his mask. JasonWhitney, set during Ft13: 2009, oneshot**_

_Another Friday the 13th oneshot from me. I don't know why, but I really wanted to write something else for this pairing. I guess just so many ideas are...appropriate for Jason and Whitney because, in reality, they spent so much time together in the movie and therefore they had to have more interactions that we didn't see in the film. Expect some crack pairings from me soon, of course, as soon as I get all the little JasonWhitney plot bunnies out of my head, lol. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy!_

* * *

**Countenance**

* * *

He's staring at her again.

Whitney can't find it in her to scream at him anymore. She's far too tired, far too ready for this to be over with. She just wants to be able to be left alone for one moment without the tendrils of fear creeping along the edges of her consciousness. But that is a fever dream, she knows. Terror is the nature of this place, and for that feeling to leave here, she knows not what she would be left with.

She doesn't notice it until the second time she glances over at him, that he has changed his mask. The sight of it - a hockey mask, covering what she still has yet to see - covering his face instead of the somewhat familiar sack is jarring, and a pit of fear wedges itself in her stomach.

Jason stands there, in those oversized work clothes, dripping wet and yet still there is fresh blood on his hands. She can still make that out, even from this far away. She wonders what poor fool died tonight - or today? There is no sense of day or night in this place - and if they suffered horribly. If Jason's history is any indication, suffering was the name of the game.

She inhales deeply, exhales shakily.

There's really nothing she can think of right now except him. And that fact scares her more than his presence does. He has not moved since he arrived back from his...she hesitates to say "hunt" because that is too brutal. Too horrid to think of he as the lion, and the people he terrorizes as gazelles.

She's not sure what kind of relationship she has to him. She's not sure why he keeps her around. Most days, she wishes that he would just kill her. Death would be better than this existence, constantly frightened, constantly worried that he'll go off the deep end this time and decide that she's not worth the effort he puts in to keeping her around.

Whitney would have thought that spending so much time around someone who deals out death on a regular basis would make her immune to the fear of it.

But she's wrong, as she is about most things as of late.

Jason seems to be particularly hesitant at this moment, for reasons unbeknownst to her. She wonders why exactly he would be feeling this way, especially when he has never been timid or shy in the past.

He just stares at her. Whitney feels the strangeness of being exposed to the nerves as his gaze penetrates her. She cannot make out his eyes from this distance, but she's seen them before. She has watched as they watch her. Deep and dark and depthless, they speak of thousands of horrors watched, of much terror inflicted.

Whitney waits for him to approach her. He always does, as if to see if she's alright. She wonders why he does this. It makes no sense for him to favor her, to save her life over countless others.

His footsteps are light, a strange contrast to his appearance. Jason approaches her slowly - slower than usual, she realizes.

_"What do you want?" _she wants to scream, wants to cry. But she doesn't. No good would come from that, she knows. Just her own damaged vocal chords and an even more damaged sense of self.

Whitney does nothing. She does not flinch, does not move. Only waits for him to reach her. Waits for him to do what he wants and then leave her alone.

After mere moments, Jason is at her side, so close that she can feel the heat coming off of his body. It shocks her even now because she imagines him to be such a cold person that there are ice crystals in his veins. Whitney finds that this heat, this closeness, is starting to become something that she craves. Just to be next to the heat of his body is something that she has come to look forward to, even when her mind screams otherwise.

Whitney tenses up - she can't help it - when he leans down near her. The action is almost nervous. She can practically feel the tension in his frame. It's as if he is searching for something, something that Whitney herself is unsure of how to give.

She looks at his mask, the newness of it is almost jarring in this world unmarked by change. Jason leans just a bit closer, so that she can see all of the scratches and details in the mask's veneer.

And Whitney understands.

"Your mask?" she voices, and the sound of her question is steadier than it would have been when she first arrived here.

Jason nods, so slight in his movement that it is almost imperceptible.

"It's new," she continues.

He nods again.

Whitney doesn't know what overcomes her next, but she pauses for a moment, assesses his mood, and makes a slight movement towards him. He doesn't jerk away; a good sign. She continues moving toward him until her hands are nearest his mask.

Trembling, she presses her palms to his mask.

Jason allows the contact, surprisingly. He does not move, does not make any indication that he would be violent towards her. Whitney looks at him and sees that his eyes are closed, softly. The sight of it almost touches her heart. Her chest feels tight, so she moves her gaze elsewhere, focusing on the way his arms are braced against the bed where she is tied, almost as if he is shielding her with his body.

"It..." she says, trying to find words truthful enough to express what she was feeling. "It looks nice..."

At this point, she looks back at him and starts when she sees his eyes are wide open now, searching for something that Whitney does not know she can provide.

Jason reaches up gently and places a hand on her wrist, removing one hand from her mask. Whitney moves the other of her own volition, placing her hands gently in her lap as the hulking figure of her captor rises from his crouched position to tower over her.

The close proximity is automatically missed, Whitney finds. But she says nothing else. Sees it as an act of God that he allowed her that close to him in the first place. She does not turn her eyes from him this time, only stares at him as if seeing something remarkable for the first time.

Jason gives a slight nod, the softness in his eyes suggesting that he is expressing gratitude.

With her chest dreadfully tight, Whitney nods back, whispering gently, "You're welcome."

* * *

_**End.**_


End file.
